He should’ve knocked.
But of course, my sweet little husband never does. Always assuming, never commanding. That’s what got us here in the first place.
“E-Evelyn?” he stuttered, frozen in the doorway. His face was pale, his eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?!”
I didn’t stop. Why would I? My boss Mark was already deep inside me, his hands gripping my hips, my moans echoing off the office walls. I turned my head, caught John’s horrified expression, and smiled.
“Oh, honey,” I purred. “You’re just in time.”
Mark didn’t slow down. If anything, he thrust harder. I arched my back, one hand bracing against the desk, the other reaching for John.
“Sit,” I commanded, pointing to the guest chair like he was nothing more than an obedient little pet. “You wanted to surprise me? Surprise. Now sit and learn what it looks like when a real man fucks his wife.”
He sat. He always does what he’s told.
I could feel Mark stretching me in ways John never could. I looked over my shoulder again, locking eyes with my husband—his small, pathetic bulge pressed against his khakis.
“Aww, is that all the excitement I bring you?” I giggled cruelly. “No wonder I had to find someone who could actually fill me.”
John’s lips trembled. His hands clenched into fists. He didn’t say a word—he just watched. Like a good little cuck.
“Maybe next time,” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “I’ll let you clean me up when we’re done.”
And when we were done? I kissed Mark’s neck, slipped my panties into John’s hand, and walked out—barely glancing back.
Because that’s what Evelyn does.
She owns the moment.
She owns you.